drabble 001: if it can be broken
( ultraviolens; thisismycrown )
Safety comes in the form of fitted Armani suits, and the dented metal of an old bat. It lingers in her shadow, catches her before she has the chance to fall, and in her name, vile blood is s h e d. Words will leave lips like sugar to cut throats, polished shoes lifting to kick their rolling heads.
She is protected by two sides of a rigged coin, the mocking chirp and a mumble to follow. They do not cage her, but the evils surrounding, for she is already nursing clipped wings.
Home is encased by the wallpaper she hates with a kitchen counter burned by cheap, dollar value appliances. It is the blood stains on the tiled floor scrubbed away, and wearing down the carpet with their tired backsides.
Family is an idea unwritten, a fairy-tale she dared not entertain in the shade of her youth. It wasn't found in the alcohol ridden tantrums of a father belittling the weeping woes of his wife, or the bloodied fist of the coward who called her his sister.
Rather, family took shape in the Prada enthusiast who'd taken her to breakfast, who'd shown her kindness when she only knew brutality. It bloomed in the brother of a boy who'd taken all he was willing to give; in calloused fingertips, and a promise to keep her secure.
Her place to belong was no longer resigned to the streets, but instead to the Cummins twins who'd encompassed her in a dream sought as a child.
Love.
